


It's (not) just polyester

by salvatorestjohn



Category: Boy Meets World
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Holidays, Jealousy, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvatorestjohn/pseuds/salvatorestjohn
Summary: “You—you gave her your sweater!” Shawn argues defiantly.“It’s just polyester!” Cory laughs, shaking his head again. “That’s all it is!”“And that’s the problem!” Shawn shouts, standing up.Cory stares up at him, his eyebrows furrowing, all humour gone from his face now. “What?”“It’s just—just material to you! But it means more to others, Cory! Other people look at that kind of thing as more personal, something with a meaning!”
Relationships: Shawn Hunter/Cory Matthews
Comments: 27
Kudos: 139





	It's (not) just polyester

"Thanks again for letting me stay here, Cor," Shawn says, hopping the last few stairs.

He drops onto the couch in the empty space beside Cory. Cory makes a noise like "psha" and waves it off, grinning at him. 

"What are best friends for if not to take you in when your parents… drive your house away while you're at college and forget to tell you so you're left in your dorm for the holidays,” Cory says with a grin. 

Shawn chuckles and nods, agreeing. The holidays would definitely have sucked way more if Cory hadn’t immediately told him that he was staying with him. Didn’t suggest it as an option, but demanded he come and stay at his house. Or his parent’s house now, he supposes, since Cory doesn’t technically live here either. 

It's only the third of December, so they probably didn't have to leave quite so early, but it's a weekend and they figured they may as well visit before they come to stay for the actual holidays. 

"Any news?" Shawn asks, casually swiping the tv remote from Cory's lap. 

"Eric, Morgan or Josh?"

"Josh?" Shawn laughs, glancing at Cory as he flicks the channel. "I didn't realize he was old enough to have news."

"Oh yeah," Cory says, nodding. "Kid's popular in kindergarten. Only three years old and causing problems."

Shawn grins. "He gets that from me." 

Cory chuckles, then continues, "But as for  _ real _ news? I got nothing."

"Sounds about right."

"Gimme that, before you wear the buttons down," Cory says, and reaches to steal the remote back when Shawn flips to another channel for the fifth time.

He moves to hold the remote out of reach, exclaiming, "Hey!" as Cory practically lunges across him to stretch for it. To his surprise, Cory stops his attempt short, despite having his hand on the one holding the remote. 

Instead of trying to pry it from Shawn's fingers, he moves his other hand up to touch the back of Shawn's hand, then his wrist, frowning all the while.

"You are absolutely  _ freezing _ ," Cory declares, as if accusing Shawn for not telling him sooner. 

Shawn touches his own arm, and says, "Am I? Huh. Didn't notice."

"Because you're so used to the cold that you've adapted," Cory says, still in that same offended, accusatory voice. "You're a snowman, is what you are, Shawn."

"If I've adapted to my environment, does that not make more of a polar bear?" Shawn questions. 

Cory glowers. "You take a couple college classes and suddenly you're a genius? Here, put this on."

He pulls back, releasing Shawn's hand, and starts pulling his sweater off. 

"Oh no, Cor, it's fine, really," Shawn begins protesting. "I honestly don't feel cold, you don't need to —"

Cory reappears beneath the hem of the sweater that's now only on his arms. 

"If you don't put this on, I'll tell my mom you're cold. Then the thermostat gets changed. Then she makes soup. Then next thing you know, you'll be in your sleeping bag with a thermometer in your mouth and my mom calling a doctor to see if it's normal for you to —"

"Alright, alright, I'll wear the sweater," Shawn cuts in, quickly pulling it off of Cory's arms. "Geez."

Cory smiles smugly. Shawn just makes a face at him then pulls the sweater on over his head. It's actually kind of comfortable. A little long in the arms, but the polyester feel is nice, and it's a dark green colour that matches the mood for Christmas coming up soon. That's why Shawn had bought it for him as an early present. He also wanted to make sure he could actually get him something this year, in case something went wrong at his job and he came up a little short on money. Fortunately, things are looking good. 

“There.” Shawn spreads his arms. “Happy now?”

Looking him up and down, Cory pretends to think, scratching his chin. Shawn gives him a kick to his knee and chuckles despite himself as Cory makes an affronted noise.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Cory says, holding a hand up. He gives a genuine smile, his eyes flickering over him once more, but not in mocking thought this time. “It looks better on you than it does on me. That's not to say I don't love it, and I definitely want it back later."  


Shawn rolls his eyes and bites back the smile from the inside of his cheek. He looks down in search of where he put the remote, only to find it in Cory's hand. Gaping at him, Cory just grins in response, crosses his legs, and flips the channel.

He’s tempted to wrestle him for it again, properly this time. But Cory looks so pleased with himself that Shawn actually finds him weighing it against having to sit through one more episode of Friends, something that doesn’t seem worth anything if he’s honest. Except maybe a couple of things. 

So, he slumps back against the arm of the couch as the Friends intro starts playing. He shakes his head and calls Cory a dork when he sings along without missing a word (or a clap), but he doesn’t complain. Just watches him as Cory watches the TV. 

It’s pathetic, really. Hiding his smile behind his hand as he feigns nonchalance, sneaking glances at Cory and only looking away when he turns to him to nudge him about something happening in the show. Letting his mind wander and slip into familiar daydreams of wrestling over the remote ending in kissing, and being tucked at his side, cosied up like some soppy fools. Being so head-over-heels, a whole zoo in his stomach, lying through his teeth in love with his best friend. 

Maybe that means being here, accepting Cory’s offer of staying for the holidays was a bad idea. But he’s been playing this game for… well, the entire time he’s known Cory. Kind of hard not to fall for the guy you saved from some murderous llamas. Point is, if he’s survived this long without it being an issue, then he sees no reason to be concerned or feel any sort of regret.

And then he notices that Cory isn’t watching the TV either anymore. His eyes are wide and fixed on something just beyond Shawn. Without even looking, Shawn already knows what it is that’s so interesting. The one thing that has the power to make him regret it. 

Smile gone from his face, Shawn glances over his shoulder. Topanga’s in conversation with Angela, Morgan just in front of them as they walk into the house. An icy, biting breeze blows in with them. Maybe it’s colder than he thought after all. 

Even he has to admit that Topanga looks beautiful. Wrapped up in a bright blue winter coat, a green scarf wound around her, and flakes of snow powdering her shoulders and her wind-touseled hair. A real sight for sore eyes. 

He looks back at Cory, but his attention has been well and truly captured. His eyes must be in a whole lot of pain, and Topanga seems to be the only cure. Those same eyes track Topanga all the way across the room. 

Shawn doesn’t look round when she says, “Hi!” He’s too busy trying to swallow down the lump in his throat at Cory’s sudden smile, brighter than a blue sky. It’s like his chest has shrunk and his ribs are caving in, while his heart is expanding further and further in an attempt to escape what it deems the worst form of torture—

“Hi,” he replies, faking a smile with a quick glance back at them. He clears his throat, his eyes darting back to Cory, who’s still utterly mesmerized as he watches Topanga go upstairs with Angela. 

“Cory? Shawn? Any of you boys wanna come help me out for a minute?” Mrs Matthews calls from the kitchen. 

When Cory doesn’t respond at all, Shawn says, “I’m, uh… I’m gonna go see if your mom needs help. Or if she needs me to burn something for her.”

“Huh?” Cory faintly asks, with the expression of a dog waiting for its owner to come back out of a store. 

Nodding to himself, Shawn breathes out a quiet scoff and rolls his eyes. How can he judge anyone for being in love when he’s only bitter because he is, too? _ Pathetic _ . 

Pulling Cory’s sweater back off, he leaves it on the couch as he gets up. The movement catches Cory’s attention at last, making him look round at him questioningly.

“Don’t wanna get anything on it, and considering what happened the last time I was in the kitchen while food was being prepared…” Shawn explains.

Cory grimaces. “That seems wise. I'll keep it safe. But hurry back, or I’ll be the one stuffing you in a sleeping bag; it’s, like, twenty degrees, and I refuse to break the news to Jack if you die of hypothermia. He looks like he could break me like a twig.”

“He  _ could _ break you like a twig.”

“Boys?” Mrs Matthews calls again, sounding a little more harried.

Shawn rolls his eyes at Cory deeming himself victorious as Shawn crosses the room towards the kitchen door. As it turns out, he’s mostly just needed to stop  _ Eric _ from burning something. Otherwise, he mostly just helps keep an eye on a pan while Mrs Matthews runs upstairs to grab something. 

It gives him time to scold himself on being such a complete moron. Jealousy, seriously? He’s been jealous of Topanga since he met her, why is he letting it bother him now? It’s not as if it’s her fault he’s decided to make the worst decision of all by loving the most unattainable person in the world, sans Topanga herself. 

Besides, Topanga or no Topanga, he’d have no chance. Cory isn’t interested like that. He doesn’t even know that Shawn, well, marches to the beat of a different drum, plays for both teams, or whatever other cliche metaphors sum up his total lack of straightness. He’s accepted that about himself; it took a while, but with a few talks from Jack and, due to accidental eavesdropping, Rachel, it’s been easier to understand. 

But Cory doesn’t know, and Shawn isn’t exactly keeping it a secret, more… biding his time until he can figure out a good way to tell him without also revealing other feelings. It’s not Topanga’s fault. He’s not even sure that she realizes Cory hasn’t gotten over his own feelings for her since the breakup in high school. 

He only has himself to blame for letting his imagination wander. Why would Cory ever kiss him? Not even for a dare, he’s already proven that before during the dumb games they’ve played at college with the rest of their friends. 

Ten minutes go by before Mrs Matthews comes back and, not a moment too soon, releases him from the torture that is keeping Eric from dipping his finger into the pudding or stealing food out of the pan. 

“Thank you, Shawn,” she says with a smile, patting his shoulder gently. 

He shrugs. “No problem. Never really got to help out at home, so it’s fun, really.”

Mrs Matthews gives him that almost sympathetic smile and her hand tightens just a little on his shoulder. Then she lets him go, and he turns to leave, finishing drying off his hands. The kitchen door opens and Topanga joins them, wearing a bright smile. And a dark green sweater with sleeves that fall far past her hands. 

Shawn’s chest constricts, his ribs curling in like skeletal fingers trying to puncture an organ. It feels like they’re succeeding, too. 

“Anything I can help with?” she asks, the tips of her fingers poking out of the sleeves to push her hair behind her ears, looking between the two of them with that smile. 

“Uh, well.” Mrs Matthews glances down at the pan, then around the kitchen, and her face creases ever so slightly. “Actually, yes, that would be great. Please?”

Topanga nods eagerly and moves right over to where Eric is. She knocks him aside as easily and swiftly as Shawn did, stopping him just before he manages to steal the spoon from the bowl of pudding mix. 

Cory trails into the room and leans against the island where Shawn’s now just holding a towel.

“You gave her your sweater?” Shawn says with an attempt at a chuckle. He swallows it down but keeps the grin on his face as he glances over at Topanga with Cory then back to him.

Cory shrugs. “Yeah, she was cold from the snow, so.”

He must misinterpret the expression that Shawn’s doing his best to keep in line, because when he glances at him, he then rolls his eyes and straightens up, shaking his head. 

“Stop that,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “It’s just—just polyester! All right? It means nothing. Do not take a nice, friendly gesture and turn it into me still having feelings for Topanga, when I clearly —”

“Hey, Cory, could you help me a sec?” Topanga calls over to him.

Cory perks up, eyes wide, already moving around the island. “Of course, dahling!” 

Shawn can’t help but stare at them for a moment. “Just polyester,” he mutters, so quietly under his breath that it’s practically just a thought. “Right.”

Maybe that’s really all it means. Or maybe that’s all it means when it’s Shawn he’s letting wear it. He’s not dumb enough to think that things don’t have different meanings when Topanga’s involved. A sweater is just polyester when it’s given to a friend for just a few minutes, but he likes her better. Which means it’s not just a sweater. Just like it wasn't just a sweater when Shawn gave it to him. 

And, kill him now, he actually finds himself wishing that, just for once, it wasn’t just polyester when given to him. For once, or maybe for the millionth time in his life, he wishes he was Topanga right now. 

It’s hard not to, when they’re standing there like that. What earthly reason is there for her to be holding his hand? Does the universe just hate him this much and want to rub it in even more? 

“It’s a mild burn,” Cory says, waving it off with that not-at-all suave laugh. He might as well puff out his chest or spread his feathers like a damn peacock. “I’ve had worse.”

Shawn snorts and Topanga scoffs, raising her eyebrows at Cory. 

“Seriously, look! See?” Cory waves his reddening hand around, still laughing. “I’m fine, but it really is sweet of you to worry about me, dear.”

He puts his arm around her shoulder, to which Topanga now rolls her eyes at. Shawn’s throat has closed up completely. It’s colder in the kitchen than it was in the living room, he notices. There must be a window open or something because he never usually notices the cold but it’s biting at his skin like vengeful little snakes now, making him shiver. 

If only he hadn’t taken the sweater off. 

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he looks away from the two of them standing there like a picture-perfect couple. And instead finds Eric staring at him.

His heart hammers faster at Eric's raised eyebrows. Oh, that can’t be good. For a moment, he tries to delude himself into believing that Eric is so oblivious that he either didn’t actually notice Shawn staring at Cory and Topanga with what must have been the expression of a kicked dog, or maybe he’s going to assume there’s some totally normal, simple answer. 

That wishful thought fades fast from his mind when Eric finally leaves Cory and Topanga alone and makes his way towards him. Shawn tries to search for an escape route.

"Need glasses, Hunter?”

Shawn clenches his jaw but keeps his face a mask of confusion. “Sorry?”

Eric shrugs, stopping next to him and leaning against the island. “It’s just that you’re sorta doing this squinting-glaring thing at Cory and Topanga, which makes me think one of two things.”

Ending the conversation here would be ideal. He could easily excuse himself, find some excuse. For some reason, he lets Eric keep talking. 

“Either you just really need some glasses, or…” he looks at Shawn, leaning in and lowering his voice as if passing some secret between them, “...someone’s harbouring some feelings against the lovebirds over there.”

Okay, he can still save this. At least Eric didn’t go straight for “you’re in love with Topanga!” That would have been a hilarious nightmare. Still, digging himself out of this isn’t going to be fun.

Shawn makes himself scoff and puts on a facade of being amused. “I just zoned out. You really think that I have anything against them? Everyone does! They’re practically married already and yet they’ve been broken up for three years. It’s infuriating.”

Eric raises an eyebrow again, and Shawn’s really beginning to be glad Jack isn’t this intrusive into his personal life. He leaves things that aren’t his business well alone, something that Eric seems to be struggling to grasp the concept of.

“So, you’re just annoyed that they’re not together?” Eric questions in a tone that poses knowledge of his real view on that matter. Shawn doesn’t like that. “That’s all?”

Shawn’s eyes narrow at him now. He stares at him for a moment, and that moment is just long enough for Eric to shrug again and continue speaking.

“I’m just saying, it seems more like the kind of look that you give an arch-enemy or something. You know, someone you hate deeply? Like Batman with Joker. Or… what’s another example, I don’t speak yours and Cory’s nerd language.”

Hate. That word throws Shawn off.

“I don’t hate them,” he says, and he means it more than anything else he’s said in this conversation so far. 

“Well, I didn’t say both of them,” Eric says. “I know how much you like Cory.”

Shawn catches on after a beat and Eric’s pointed glance back over at Cory and Topanga, who are arguing over how long the pudding should be whisked for and how long it needs to be baked for. 

“You think I hate Topanga?” Shawn asks in disbelief. “How could I hate her? She’s—she’s Topanga! She’s practically an angel, even you’ve said so.”

His eyes drift back over to them as Eric just makes a quiet noise of agreement. The argument has ended and turned into laughing. Over what, Shawn doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want to, either. He’s starting to feel like the joke here. 

His protests die in his throat as he and Eric watch the two of them. It’s not hate coiling itself up tight inside of Shawn’s chest the longer he watches Cory’s smile be because of Topanga, and that loving look in his eyes be aimed at her, and when Topanga leans in close to whisper something in Cory’s ear. No, he doesn’t hate her, that’s impossible. But jealous of her? That’s certainly not unbelievable.

“Might wanna work on that subtlety of yours before someone gets the wrong idea,” Eric mutters.

“And what idea would that be?” Shawn snaps, his defenses quickly lifting. 

Eric isn’t fazed. “Not my place to say, I’m just going on what I know. Just wanted to give you some advice before Cory or Topanga jump to the conclusion that something _ is  _ wrong.”

“... What did Jack say to you?”

“That you’re head-over-heels for my brother,” Eric admits in a heartbeat, as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “And I figured, since Josh is only about three, it had to be Cory.”

Shawn isn’t listening to him. He's too busy planning Jack's murder. It would be very easy to get rid of his body. He has connections. 

"Hey, but don't be mad at him," Eric adds, poking his elbow into Shawn's arm. "I'm a professional pester...er. And--he was just worried. You know, he doesn't want you to do anything stupid because of my brother being an oblivious moron who can’t see a good thing if it hit him the face. Seriously, he never sees any ball coming at him, I think  _ he _ might need glasses.”

“What do you mean?” Shawn asks, frowning. 

“He’s terrible at sports, is what I mean, and—” Eric glances at him, “—that’s not what you were talking about. Well, I meant what I said. Cory just doesn’t see how much you like him, so of course he’s gonna pursue a pointless and destined to fail relationship with Topanga. It’s easier than going around thinking he doesn’t have a chance with you, isn’t it?”

Shawn’s having a hard time processing like a normal, functioning person now. “Wait, wait. What are you talking about? What do you mean Cory and Topanga are destined to fail? They’re--they’re Cory and Topanga!” 

Eric makes a noise of disbelief and turns to look at him face-on, straightening up at last.

“Yeah, and you’re Shawn and Cory. You really think that’s ever gonna change?” he asks with a tone that says he sure doesn’t. He grins at him. “I lived with the kid for fifteen years. Trust me, you’re not the only one hiding a couple of things from your best friend.”

He leaves Shawn to deal with that anvil of information as he walks away, just giving him a pat on the shoulder on the passing. Shawn opens his mouth to say something else, but it’s probably a good thing that Eric’s already left the room because he doesn’t even know what he would say to him. Ask him what the hell that even means? 

His eyes dart back over to Cory and Topanga. For the second time, Cory’s whole attention is wholly captured by Topanga as she takes a tray from him and moves to set it on the table. It’s almost funny how she doesn’t have to do anything to have Cory mesmerized the second she’s in his line of sight. Cute, really.

The nauseating crushing thing his ribs are doing to his insides doesn’t agree. Hands definitely dry by now due to the sudden clamminess in the air, he tosses the towel onto the countertop before making for the first escape route he can find: the back door. It doesn’t matter, he just needs to be alone to think for a minute. God, what has  _ happened _ to him?

Slipping out unnoticed, he sits on the bench and sighs. A deep, chest-loosening sigh. Except, even as the air returns to his lungs, his ribs press in on them. What is it with things trying to crush him today? First the Christmas tree, then Cory and Topanga, and now his own body. He really thought the universe didn’t care about him, yet it seems that it’s paying a little too much attention to him today. He tries to think back on what he could have possibly done in the past week that’s worse than anything ordinary for him.

What did Eric mean? Was he seriously implying that Cory doesn’t really have feelings for Topanga? He has to be wrong. Eric may be his brother, but Shawn _knows_ Cory. He would know if he was hiding something from him. 

_But Cory hasn’t noticed_ you’re _hiding something from_ him.

He drops his head forward, his hands clasped together. Prayer is not something he’s about to resort to outside of a hospital, but he’s definitely feeling a need for some sort of sign to tell him what the hell he’s meant to do. 

“You really think you can get out of helping anymore by hiding out here?” 

Shawn’s head snaps up. His eyes widen slightly at Cory making his way over to join him on the bench. So much for being unnoticed and alone. He should have known. Cory’s always there.

He gives a faint smile in spite of himself. Cory stops beside him, then raises his eyebrows and gives a pointed gesture for him to make room, ignoring the whole empty space on his other side. Shawn obliges anyway, rolling his eyes. 

“Okay,” Cory sighs, settling beside him. “Give it to me.”

Shawn blinks, breathing out a chuckle as he stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“Give me your burden, tell me what’s going on in that… incomprehensible and completely unreadable mind of yours,” Cory elaborates. He reaches into his pocket and pulls a coin out, holding it out to him. “Penny… or, cent, for your thoughts?”

“Is this your way of trying to weasel out of buying me a Christmas present?” Shawn asks, narrowing his eyes jokingly. 

Cory laughs. “Yeah, totally. So, come on —”

He nods at the coin between his fingers. Shawn half rolls his eyes again, but Cory seems serious. Shawn hesitates and glances at the coin. Telling him what’s going through his mind right now is definitely not on the table. But…

What if Eric really did mean what he thought he meant? The thought seems ridiculous and he’s chiding himself just for letting himself even humour it.

He slips the coin from Cory’s fingers. Staring down at it, he says, “So. Topanga.”

“What about her?” Cory asks without missing a beat and as if he’s none the wiser to where this could be going. He raises his eyebrows again. “Or is this just your inevitably unsuccessful attempt to change the subject? Using Topanga as an escape isn’t going to work, I’m afraid, Shawnie.”

“Why do you keep chasing her?” Shawn asks bluntly. 

Cory stops, genuinely surprised by the question. He blinks slowly as a crease sinks into his forehead in a frown. There’s the smallest smile clinging to the corner of his mouth, though, shaking his head slowly.

“I’m not,” he says. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

Shawn looks back down at the coin. He twists it around his fingers, sliding it from one to the other.  _ Penny for your thoughts _ . He frowns.

“What do you mean you’re not? Cor,” he lifts his gaze back up to him, breathing out a humourless chuckle, “you’ve been trying to get her back since you broke up! You —”

“What are you talking about?” Cory laughs, a real, proper laugh of disbelief. “Shawn, do you seriously think that? Topanga and I broke up  _ four years ago _ ! I can assure you, I am definitely over any feelings for her that I once had, and I definitely haven’t been _ chasing _ her.”

Shawn straightens up, turning to fully face him. “You’re lying.”

Cory, staring him in the eyes, responds, “You’re a moron.”

“I’m being serious, why won’t you just admit it?” Shawn asks, irritated now. Why is it so hard for him to just admit what everyone already knows anyway? “I’m your best friend! Just tell me you’re still in love with Topanga, please, because I am going crazy here, and I — I just need you to say it, so just — confirm it for everyone else. Nobody but you may say it out loud, but everyone knows that it’s always gonna be Cory and Topanga in the end, so just — just… Just say it.”

Cory’s shaking his head again, pulling back to stare at him in confusion. Honestly, Shawn doesn’t know where the outburst is coming from either. He’s been content with knowing that this is how things are meant to be for the entire time he’s known Cory and Topanga, so  _ why now _ ? Why is he trying to ruin everything so close to the holidays?

“Shawn.” Cory shifts on the bench, fully facing him as well, and speaking in a slow voice as if trying to work out the answer to the question he’s about to ask. “I’m not going to say it. Because it’s not true, and I understand that. I understand that, me and Topanga? We’re over. We have been for a while. What I don’t understand is why you’re so convinced otherwise.”

“Why I’m—?” Shawn sputters in disbelief. “Cory, you love her!”

“As a really good friend,” Cory says, nodding. “Why is this bothering you?”

“You—you gave her your sweater!” Shawn argues defiantly.

“It’s just polyester!” Cory laughs, shaking his head again. “That’s all it is!”

“And that’s the problem!” Shawn shouts, standing up.

Cory stares up at him, his eyebrows furrowing, all humour gone from his face now. “What?”

“It’s just—just material to you! But it means more to others, Cory! Other people look at that kind of thing as more personal, something with a meaning!”

“Shawn, you’re talking like a crazy person,” Cory says, standing up as well, with his hands in front of him. 

“It’s—it’s a symbol,” Shawn continues on without hearing him. “Everyone knows that someone giving someone else their sweater in a situation that does not require that sweater to be given  _ means _ something!”

“No, it doesn’t!” Cory argues, his voice rising to meet Shawn’s level. “Why can’t a sweater just be a sweater?!”

“Because you gave it to  _ her _ ! To Topanga!”

“I gave it to you as well! Did _ that  _ mean something??”

“To me, yeah! And it did when I got it for you as well!"

Cory stops again. His expression quickly morphs into one of startled surprise. It dawns on Shawn that he’s said too much, crossed a line that it may be hard to draw back in front of him. But his mouth is moving before he can even think. 

“I know it’s just a freaking sweater, okay? And I know that you probably didn’t mean anything by giving it to me, and then immediately giving it to Topanga, but, yeah, it meant something to me, Cory! It hurt! Because—because I’m an idiot! And, I don’t know, I guess I kidded myself into believing that it was more than  _ just polyester _ to you. I thought, for a second, that maybe—I—maybe you could have actually felt the same way!” 

He _is_ talking like a crazy person, and the worst part is that he’s aware of it. Or maybe that Cory isn’t stopping him, when he really should be, because nothing he’s saying is making any sense anyway! 

Cory takes a careful step forward. The surprise is still present in the wideness of his eyes, but there’s something else in his expression now as well, an understanding. 

“I’m guessing you mean about more than the sweater, huh,” he says gently. 

Shawn’s too sunk beneath his heartbeat and the anger that’s come out of nowhere and for no valid reason to process what he’s saying normally. He barely hears him at all, actually, turning away from him and averting his eyes to anything within the garden that isn’t Cory, running a hand roughly through his hair. God, he needs a haircut. 

He doesn’t see Cory taking another step. Doesn’t realize until Cory speaks again, saying, “You thought that I felt the same way about you. Right? Because you like me?”

That forces Shawn’s head right back up, his heart tumbling. “What?” 

Cory smiles at that. “Shawnie, come on. I’m your best friend. All right, I’ll admit, I may have warranted being called oblivious now and then… a lot of the time. But—I know you better than I know  _ myself _ , Shawn.”

“No,” Shawn breathes, taking a fumbling step back, shaking his head, “you don’t. You don’t know me like you think you do, trust me, I—”

“Have no secrets that I don’t already know,” Cory insists, his smile widening. He takes a step forward, closing the gap Shawn created. “I know you, Shawn. Every part. Even the ones you try to hide. Like, for instance, that the reason you’ve spent our entire lives in some weird, terrifying competition with Topanga, is because you were jealous of her. Am I getting warm, or am I growing a bigger head than I should be?”

A smile tries to form at the corner of Shawn’s mouth. The overwhelming panic and urge to flee overpowers it. What is Cory doing? How could he know  _ anything _ ? 

Swallowing, Shawn stays quiet. Could he maybe find a way to go back inside, find an excuse to avoid the rest of this conversation? 

Cory takes another small step, as if testing a patch of ice for its stability. Shawn’s eyes flicker from the door behind him to the ground, to his face. 

“And I know that you joined that insane cult back then because you were trying to figure out who you are, because you couldn’t understand the way you were feeling,” Cory ventures further. “Am I warm yet?”

Shawn can’t look away from him. He wants to. Everything inside of him is repelling against this, a magnet refusing to let another get closer, trying to push away and fly as far away as possible. 

Cory reaches out, and Shawn startles when he takes his hand.

“Maybe,” Shawn mutters. 

His mouth is dry, and his heart is lodged in his throat. But he isn’t running. And neither is Cory. 

Cory nods slowly, his smile growing the slightest bit. He closes another inch. 

“What about now?” he says quietly, his gaze unwavering in its hold on Shawn’s. “Warmer?”

If he’s talking in terms of Shawn, then his entire body is on fire at the current moment, and yet absolutely freezing at the same time. It really is cold out here. But the warmth in his chest and his hand seem to almost be cancelling it out. 

Trying to recall how to breathe is a difficult feat, but Shawn thinks he manages fairly okay. He’s also beginning to think he’s got a good grasp on what’s happening right now. It doesn’t make his head spin any less. 

“Pretty warm, I’d say, yeah.” 

“Do you wanna hear something else that I know?” Shawn can feel the cold breath of the words against his own lips, and he isn’t thinking at all anymore. 

“Not really,” he says in a breath, and quickly leans in before he can start again. 

The kiss is like a cold shock. Icy rain sinking into every inch of his skin, except for his lips, which he registers are against Cory’s. And for a whole second, he thinks,  _ what are you doing, you moron? _ And then Cory’s surprise wears off.

He’s kissing him back, and his hands on the side of Shawn’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Warmth sweeps the rest of the surface of his skin, wrapping him up in Cory’s warmth, his arms, and just something so very _ Cory _ . Like a sweater. 

_ How is this happening right now? _ he wonders in complete disbelief. But he isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or something. The main thing is that it is happening; Cory’s not pushing him away, but kissing him, holding him close like he never plans on letting go, even when the kiss is broken, the two of them just stand there. It faintly registers in Shawn’s mind that his skin is starting to go icy again. Wet, actually. 

“I know,” Cory says quietly, as Shawn looks at him and finds little flakes of snow landing gently on his face and in his hair, “that I love you. And even though I don’t need a sweater to know that, I understand what it means to you now. If it’ll make up for it, you can borrow any of them you want. And that one will be reserved just for you to borrow... Once I get it back from Topanga."

Shawn’s face splits into a slow grin, then a laugh bubbles up. He can’t help it; Cory’s always been on the cuter-than-should-legally-be-allowed side, but hearing those three words, and seeing his goofy smile in return is a whole experience Shawn was not prepared for. 

“Pretty sure I already borrow all of them anyway,” Shawn jokes. Then softly adds, “And… I love you.”

Cory nods, grin widening. “I figured.”

Shawn rolls his eyes. He gives Cory a gentle shove, then pauses when Cory takes his hand again. It throws him off, even after just kissing him. Then he snaps himself back.

“Oh, hey, how’s the burn?” he asks in concern, moving his hand to get a better look at the palm Cory scalded. It’s still red and slightly blistered despite his protests to Topanga that it was only mild. 

“Stings a bit,” Cory admits with a wince. But he just smiles as he stops Shawn from checking it over by closing his hand around his again. “But it’s worth it.”

How is Shawn meant to respond to that? He doesn’t know how to do this properly, how to be good at a relationship, or how to make Cory feel the way that he makes Shawn feel. 

“You’re gonna get all cheesy on me from now on, aren’t you?” Shawn moans, pretending like he wouldn’t love every second of that. Maybe not every second, he knows Cory too well, but there’s certainly a little flutter in his chest at the thought.

Cory just grins wider and gives his hand a little tug, to sling an arm around his shoulders instead. “Come on. It’s freezing out here.”

“It’s not so bad,” Shawn says as they start walking back towards the house, “I can barely feel it.”

“I’ll give you that sweater you kept borrowing, the grey and white one.”

“Wow, it’s really cold, wouldn’t you say, Cor?” 

**Author's Note:**

> As you may be able to figure out, this is 100% based on Heather by Conan Gray because I cannot get the bloody song out of my head and it just fits really well, so here we are!


End file.
